An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

No more romantic nights  the candles gather dust  hearts broken  and I hold the ashes  in my hands  The lingering smell of pink summer roses have long faded away. The wet matches  in the drawer  are soaked  with my tears  the flame of love  has been drowned out  and burns no more

Many shades of brown it's not a boring color the venerable tree trunk the layers within a piece of tiger's eye the russet of a forest on the edge of autumn the soft velvet of a socialite's dress a range of shades with tones of orange pink and gold I look at my skin  and remind myself that pretty highlights still exist

When has it been  out of fashion  to be optimistic  encouraging others hope for the best  even at the worst of times?  A sanguine attitude  confident and bright  mocked by the ones  who jump at shadows  even when none  are there to be found Gloom and doom the trend of the day a miserable existence But all is not lost I refuse the siren call that tries to pull me under.

Reach out  to show you care  from the bottom  of your heart  when someone is hurting you can be their lifeline just remember  that sometimes  it feels nice  to have others  do the same for you in turn  don't burn yourself  to warm up others  with your own fire

narrow passage  in the castle  many centuries  forgotten a knight and  his lady  exchange  secret touches  in the dark  away from  public eyes  a story untold by the bards a love endures between the pages of history as the lord's  absence  stretches  through  the fallen leaves

I sit through  his long-winded  explanations  just because  you know  a subject  doesn't mean  you can teach it  for someone else  to understand  The new problem:  I don't know  what the hell  he's talking about  and now  I'm more confused  and so he's  frustrated  because I don't get it